Changes
by Broken Mirrors
Summary: [KaiJou] A week of Jounouchi's life. Bit of fluff, hint of angst. One shot.


Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! 

**Title: **Changes

**Characters: **Kaiba, Jounouchi

**Rating:** M

**Notes:** Written at the sea for my bastard!cookie, athena. ♥My first and only (as of yet) YGO fic.

Monday 

He pins you against the wall, possessive hand landing to your hip and for your furious snarl you receive only a light smirk in response. His mouth on yours is heavy and demanding, stealing your breath away.

When he tilts your head back by a firm fist in your golden hair, you think how you forgive every cruel word and every bastard feature he has for the touch of his damp lips on your fuming skin. You think how you make excuses for him, play the game into his hand to just to feel his hip rocking into yours, strong fingers caging your wrist to the wall above your head.

Sometimes it makes you sick at yourself but still you keep going back, keep asking for it.

Tuesday 

You bring him fresh strawberries and ice cream to the office between your school hours and evening job but end up eating the ice cream on your own while you wait for him to finish a phone meeting with some RPG company's CEO. And riding home on your bike with the strawberries when there's another meeting with other business associate.

That night you hurl the strawberries at him, painting his clean white shirt with ripples of berry red. His sharp tongue gets you so mad, always. You don't care if his meeting didn't go well, you don't care if he has to do double work now. You don't deserve to be forced to listen to his crap. Promises you made to yourself before you shared your first kiss and you're going to keep them.

Even if sometimes you wonder if it's worth it.

Wednesday 

The murmured words against your neck are soft and sound like endearments. You don't hear his words but that's just fine, you wouldn't need another insult to ignite yet another flare of temper. You rock on top of him, just a hint away from release, completion. His hands frame your body with firm grip on your hipbones, strong arms supporting you as you move, trembling and shaky.

When he kisses your neck just under your earlobe, needy and out of breath, just like yourself, you think you'll forget his words and only listen to the tone of voice. You think you don't mind being called stupid fuck again and again as long as his eyes will be the same deep, unreadable but oh so very rarely a hint gentle blue you know them to be.

**Thursday**

You were supposed to sleep at his place and meet up with him at the restaurant nearby his office before crashing to his apartment. You miss the date but manage to send a message. He's not exactly angry when you finally get there; he's not pleased either. You can read it from his body language, edged and tense, never giving you the rare miracle of a smile.

But you're not in the mood for smiles anyhow.

You fall asleep on him, curled against his side in front of television. The late night show drones on as he continues to prepare for the meeting next morning, arranging documents on his laptop. His hand on your hair would feel gentle if you were awake to notice.

Friday 

You don't tell him the news but something in you says he already knows. You walk home from your night job, feeling too distracted to bicycle and turn the key in the lock double the time later that you should. Wet from the pouring rain and somewhat cold, you see him in the kitchen door waiting for you.

Even if there's no accusation in the perfect blue of his eyes you suddenly realize you had forgotten the date you made earlier. Apologizing, you dash to the bathroom and promise to be ready in a second.

You don't hear him coming in, too wrapped up in your own haste to shed every garment you're wearing at the same time. You yelp indignantly when he picks you up from the floor, your naked ass landing on his lap with a silent grunt from him. The water in the already full bathtub is still warm and feels like some long lost memory of home you never had, wrapped like dusty silk around your cold limbs.

Realizing he has not said anything yet, you watch him as he undresses in front of you. Clever fingers worming their way through buttons, with a whip of slender wrist the necktie follows the suit jacket and your gaze trails down to the self-assured hip. Soon his long fingers comply to your silent wishes and reveal the smooth skin under your waiting eyes.

He climbs in with you, legs wrapping around yours, hands rubbing down your spine and nose breathing hot air into your hair. You find yourself curling against him silently and almost fall asleep as the water cools down around your bodies.

Later, he's nestled between your thighs, your legs wrapped around his hips and fingers gripping your white sheets that smell like sleep and affection. Your back arches from the mattress as he dives into you again and again, the back of your head pressing into the pillow and when you feel his hands reaching for yours, you entwine your fingers with him tightly.

His mouth on yours steals the cry from your lips and you drown in him willingly. In moments like this you just don't care that he more often than not is the reason for your tears, or that it's not in his nature to apologize even when he is in wrong. Because he understands the silent tears on your eyes when you come messily all over his and yours stomachs, sucking his breath into you.

Saturday 

Right after midnight you tell him that your father died the day before in a hospital's emergency room. He doesn't say anything. But you weren't expecting any words of comfort; you didn't want them. You have no reason for your words, nothing but the feeling of loneliness and the nagging sensation of freedom you guiltily want to forget.

The both of you know you have to get up in the morning for work and he's not going to stop you. You try to sleep. The cum between your stomachs glues your skins together, him still enveloped within you, you feel safe. But still you can't close your eyes. Not until the very early morning when he finally pulls out from you, rolls you around and presses himself against your back and tells you to sleep with a tired, bed rough voice.

Nobody orders you around, and yet you let him do so. Not because you like to be his lapdog, but because he would understand what you do and why.

Sunday 

You're not religious person but you go to pray for your father's soul anyhow, the guilt follows you in and out of the temple. You wished him to be gone; you wished it to end so many times you can't count them anymore. When other kids wished for a new bicycle, you wanted a new dad. And it doesn't help your guilt one bit that you never voiced those desires.

Your sister already left and you feel relieved. Her worry over you is heart warming but not something you want right now. The sun feels burning on your skin and before unlocking your bike you fish out your cell to call him.

A small grin curves you lips as you hear the short order to tell him what you want. When you say you just wanted to call him, no other reason, he snorts and before hanging up reminds you not to call him again if you have nothing to say.

The cell slipping back into the back pocket of your jeans, your grin is now a wide smile and you turn your face to the sun. At least he will treat you just like before; at least one thing in the world is not changed with either your guilt or your assumed sorrow.


End file.
